


Take Two

by QueenAng



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAng/pseuds/QueenAng
Summary: While trying to plan the Most Epic Autobot Party Ever, Bumblebee decides to top what must have been the previous record-holder: Jazz's bonding ceremony.Only for him to find out that Jazz and Prowl didn't actually have a bonding ceremony.Bumblebee takes it upon himself to fix this.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 27
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

“No, no, no,” Bumblebee was saying. “It’s gotta be bigger than that. Better.”

“Better?” Mirage echoed, incensed. “Better than an annual Tower party? There’s no such thing! The annual parties were the staple of Tower culture each—”

“But they’re _boring_!” Bumblebee countered. “We need something fun. We just spent _forever_ —”

“Three days,” Hound interjected.

“—an _eternity_ fighting off a huge ‘Con siege! It’s well past time we kick back and relax. And there is no better way to start that off than with a huge, rowdy, loud, absolutely horrible party. Complete with Sunstreaker’s homemade engex!”

“And here I thought you would want mechs conscious for this party,” Mirage retorted.

Hound slowly raised his servo to get their attention. “Maybe it should be something like Optimus’ and Elita’s bonding ceremony. Everyone was celebrating for days straight after that.”

Mirage shook his head. “No way. Talk about _boring_.”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee agreed. “It needs to be something more awesome than that. Something more like Jazz’s bonding ceremony.”

Bluestreak, who had been quietly observing the other ops mechs’ debate with a resolute wariness, looked up from cleaning his rifle. “Jazz’s bonding ceremony?”

“Yeah, to Prowl!” Bumblebee said excitedly. “It was probably awesome. Can you imagine? Jazz would have invited the best of the best in the music scene, and he’s got all those cool friends from his undercover missions before the war who were probably there making all sorts of mayhem and driving Prowl’s enforcer friends crazy, and—”

“Jazz and Prowl didn’t have a bonding ceremony,” Bluestreak said.

It was a miracle the other two mechs even heard his quiet interjection over Bumblebee’s raucous rambling. Bumblebee stopped short at Bluestreak’s comment, staring at the sniper like he expected him to follow that up with “…but they had an epic bonding _party_!” but no further words came. Bluestreak simply looked between them with a wide, innocent, permanently melancholy gaze.

“You’re serious?” Bumblebee said. He shook his helm. “No. No way. You can’t be serious. Prowl’s bonding ceremony, maybe I could believe, but it was to Jazz. No way would that mech go out of the game without a huge party.”

Bluestreak shrugged helplessly. “It’s got nothing to do with believing me, or what Jazz would have wanted.” He looked at Mirage. “Prowl was a Tower mech too. Jazz wasn’t.”

Judging from the expression that crossed Mirage’s faceplates, he understood what Bluestreak had meant by that. Bumblebee did not.

“What’s Prowl’s family got to do with it?” Bumblebee said. “Wasn’t he already an Enforcer by the time Jazz met him?”

Mirage and Bluestreak exchanged a glance, and Bumblebee felt as though an implicit agreement had passed between them in those few nano-kliks of silence.

“Tower mechs don’t conjunx non-Tower mechs,” Mirage explained slowly. “You stay within your own class, preferably within your own city-state.”

“Praxus never took to that last part,” Bluestreak said. “Praxians rarely conjunxed non-Praxians.”

Mirage snorted. “Praxus never took to quite a few etiquettes.”

That went unheard to Bumblebee. “You’re telling me Prowl broke _two_ rules courting Jazz?” Bumblebee said.

Bluestreak nodded, returning his attention to his rifle. “He left his Tower to be with Jazz. It wasn’t too long after they bonded that Praxus fell. The war was bad, Praxus didn’t like outsides, their class didn’t match… they just never had the chance to have a ceremony. It was a private matter, for their safety.”

“But it’s been so long since then!” Bumblebee exclaimed. “They could have had a ceremony after the Autobots were established.”

“And out themselves to the Decepticons?”

“The Decepticons know now,” Bumblebee countered. “They’ve known since the Siege at Ultihex, when Jazz got shot. Those two would have been pretty hard to miss. I think even the Decepticons knew Prowl wouldn’t go around smooching just anyone in the middle of a battle.”

“So why bother, then?” Bluestreak replied. “Everyone already knows they’re together.”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Bumblebee insisted. “Bonding is something you’re supposed to celebrate!” To Mirage, he added, “And I doubt there’s many – if any – bots on the Ark that still believe in all that Tower mech stuff. Nobody would give them any trouble and risk Optimus giving them a disappointed speech.”

Mirage only said, “Nobody would say anything, certainly.”

“Right!” Bumblebee said. “Then they should have a party! Right, Blue?”

Bluestreak smiled faintly. “It’s a really nice sentiment, but there’s no reason. They’re together. Everyone knows.”

“No! It needs to be celebrated!” Bumblebee looked at Mirage. “Jazz’s bonding should have been the biggest, most epic party on Cybertron. How are we going to top a party that never even happened?”

“You can’t,” Mirage said.

“Exactly. So we’re going to have to _make it happen_.”

Jazz didn’t like to think of his designated area as an office. An ‘office’ would imply he did boring things like paperwork. (Which he did do, and on time as well!) He had converted half of it to a small training area, just big enough to practice punches. He had a cabinet against the back wall with one shelf of various high-grades and one shelf of an impossibly large selection of energon goodies and rust sticks (both of which he insisted were necessary for spec ops things like bribes).

Bluestreak never felt like he was intruding in Jazz’s office when he stepped in, even if uninvited, even if the base was swarming with new intel and neither Jazz or Prowl had left their offices for cycles. Jazz had given him the code to every room he’d taken up in since Bluestreak was a mechling old enough to be trusted to wander around on his own, no matter how upset it made Red Alert to know a sparkling had the codes to get into a spec ops space. No matter how busy he was, Jazz always greeted him with an open welcome and a gelled candy.

Bluestreak let the door shut quietly behind him, taking in the sight of Jazz reclined in his chair with a light-pen twirling in his servos.

“Hey, Blue! Heads up!”

Bluestreak caught the candy before it could hit the panel next to the door. “Your aim is off,” he said.

“Nah, I’m just testing your reaction time,” Jazz said. He put the data-pad he had been reading down on the desk. “You good? You look like you’ve seen a spark-eater.”

Bluestreak leaned against the wall. “Bumblebee is planning something,” he said.

“If Bumblebee’s planning it, I know it ain’t an ops mission, so… party?”

“Party,” Bluestreak confirmed.

Jazz cocked an optical ridge, but his gaze softened. “Doubt I can talk him out of it. You know how he is once he gets set on something. But if the noises are going to bother you, Red’s office is completely soundproofed. You can—”

“It’s not that,” Bluestreak said. “They’re planning a party for— well, you and Prowl will probably hear from Bumblebee sometime soon.”

Jazz frowned. “That’s not ominous at all.”

“It’s—”

The door slid open again before Bluestreak could finish, and Bumblebee sauntered into the room. “Hey, Jazz! Hey, Blue!” He skidded to a stop beside Jazz’s desk. “We’ve got questions. Important questions.”

“Questions,” Jazz echoed, glancing at Bluestreak. “Sounds important.”

“There’s a party,” Bumblebee said conspiratorially. “And we’ve got to know how you want it planned.”

Jazz laughed. “Thanks, but I’m not sure Optimus would like the look if I was solely in charge of a party. Maybe you should get Sideswipe.”

“But it’s not just a party!” Bumblebee said. “It’s your bonding ceremony!”

“Sorry to break it to the lucky mech, but I’m already bonded to the light of my spark.”

“No, no, not like that!” Bumblebee excitedly corrected. “With Prowl. It’s going to be a bonding ceremony for the two of you.”

Bluestreak let his face fall into his servos.

Jazz shook his helm. “Thanks, mech, but we made our vows a long time ago.”

“But you couldn’t celebrate it,” Bumblebee said. “Bluestreak and Mirage told us about it. That’s not right. Don’t you want to have some big party to celebrate bonding to the love of your life?”

“Every day I spend with him feels like a celebration.” Jazz pointed at Bluestreak. “You don’t repeat that to Prowl.”

“I repeat that to Prowl,” Bluestreak echoed monotonously.

“Come on!” Bumblebee insisted. “It’ll be great! You two will finally get to have a bonding celebration – like every couple should have, and like you should have had, like, a hundred thousand centuries ago – and the crew will get to have an awesome party, which we totally deserve. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t throw one!”

Bluestreak said quietly, “You could think of it like a vow renewal.”

Bumblebee’s optics lit up as Bluestreak chimed in. “Yeah! And, think about it this way – you’ll get a second honeymoon!”

“They didn’t get a first one,” Bluestreak said. At Bumblebee’s surprised expression, he added somberly, “The Six Lasers attack.”

Bumblebee’s enthusiastic grin settled into a deep, determined scowl as he looked back to his commander. “This isn’t right,” Bumblebee said. “Jazz, I know you outrank me, but I have to put my pede down here. I’m claiming temporary authority over special ops and I am ordering the most amazing, awesome, historic party in the history of the Cybertronian species to be thrown as soon as possible.”

Jazz smiled at him. “Bee, it’s a nice sentiment, but it really doesn’t matter. Throw yourself a party. Me and Prowler are happy the way we are. We don’t need anything big or flashy.”

Bumblebee deflated. “But it’s important. It’s a milestone. And the crew loves celebrations.” He turned to Bluestreak. “Blue! Back me up on this. They need a bonding celebration.”

When Bluestreak hesitated with his answer, Jazz’s expression turned from a soft smile to something neutral. “Blue?”

He hadn’t meant to draw attention to himself when Bumblebee was making himself an easy target, but nothing slipped Jazz’s notice. He shrank back further against the wall.

“It’s fine, Blue,” Jazz said, voice even. “You know you can say what you think.”

“I think it would be nice to be able to go,” he finally managed to say. “You two had already bonded when you took me in after— after Praxus. I wish I could have been there for you, like you two were for me.”

Jazz slowly rose from his desk. “Come on, Blue, let’s go.”

Bluestreak couldn’t help but to tense. “Go? Go where?”

“We have to convince Prowl to let us throw a bonding party.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bumblebee and Mirage took over the majority of the planning – well, commandeered, really, straight from Sideswipe’s servos – while constantly clashing with a startling ferocity. It was a miracle anything got done at all by the proposed date, a whole week from Bumblebee getting Jazz’s approval. The scout was many admirable things; patient was not one of those.

“No,” Mirage would say to Bee’s every suggestion, turning his olfactory ridge up both physically and metaphorically. “That’s not the way we would do it in the Towers.”

“The Towers are the reason they never got to do this in the first place,” Bee retorted.

Bluestreak made himself scarce before any real brawling started, while Hound stuck around to play the ineffective peacekeeper. If he took Mirage’s side, Bee accused him of being biased toward his conjunx; if he took Bee’s side, Mirage accused him of disloyalty.

While they debated on the nuances of the party, Optimus stepped in to handle the _actual_ planning. He had overseen their first bonding ceremony, in a deserted room in what would eventually become the initial Autobot base. So much had been going on, between Megatron’s revolts and the Senate and becoming Prime, that he hadn’t given much thought to what Prowl and Jazz didn’t have there. No family, since Prowl’s had disowned him. No friends, since they didn’t want word to get back to Praxus or, worse, Megatron. No honeymoon, since the Decepticon attacks at Six Lasers came the next day. No time for one after the dust settled, since they had taken in a young Bluestreak after pulling him from the rubble of Praxus. The war started in earnest as Bluestreak grew and they just… never got around to the celebration.

Bonding should be celebrated. Optimus agreed with his little scout on that, though perhaps not with his pushiness on the matter. Sharing one’s very spark was no minor occurrence. It was a travesty that the staple relationship of Autobot command had never gotten theirs.

Red Alert, of course, did not take the idea of a huge party well.

“How am I supposed to monitor it?” he bemoaned. “What if there’s an attack during it? Everyone will be situated in the same area! It would be so easy to trap them all. What if someone slips something into the energon? It’ll be so crowded I won’t be able to pick them out.”

Optimus used his long and treasured history of speeches to draw upon as he concocted a delightful little explanation about how Jazz and Prowl’s bonding ceremony was of serious importance to the crew. It had to do with morale, you see. Jazz and Prowl’s relationship had been steady throughout the war, and it would do the soldiers good to see it still going strong.

Red Alert was not convinced.

Optimus said, “I’ll let you scan Prowl’s office for infiltrative devices while he’s gone.” It was a stringent rule of Prowl’s that Red Alert not be allowed in his office.

“Gone?” Red Alert echoed, going still. “What do you mean, gone?”

“On his _honeymoon_ ,” Ironhide griped from his sulking-corner, having become fed-up with the back-and-forth about thirty minutes ago. “It’s a bonding ceremony, Red. Specifically the _bonding_ part, that comes after the _ceremony_ part.”

“They can’t go on a honeymoon!” Red Alert exclaimed. Sparks began to flicker between his horns. “What if Decepticons attack and we need a tactician? What if Mirage is too sick to lead an infiltration mission? You know he can’t handle his high grade well! What if Prowl becomes sparked and—”

Inferno intervened at some point during Red Alert’s tirade, promising Optimus that he would get everything sorted on the security end.

“Well then.” Ironhide shoved away from the wall. “Red’s taken care of. What’s next?”

* * *

The human guests were an unexpected wrench in the plan.

“It won’t be that hard to explain,” Hound said, while Bumblebee scowled in concentration, waiting for Spike and Carly to arrive in the rec room. “I think the humans have something like a bonding ceremony too.”

Mirage’s olfactory sensor wrinkled in disgust. “Really?”

“They don’t have sparks!” Bumblebee said. “How can they have a spark-bonding ceremony if they don’t have sparks?”

Hound frowned at him. “I said it was something like a bonding ceremony,” he said. “They just use their words. I’ve seen it happening in the park a few times. They use a lot of white decorations, instead of blue. They even have a human stand by the couple and talk about their version of Primus sometimes.”

Mirage muttered something about “knock-off bonding ceremonies” and Bumblebee’s maintained pensive scowl suggested Hound hadn’t alleviated his concerns.

When Spike arrived, he didn’t seem to pick up on the heavy mood hanging over the room, skipping inside with a chirpy, “What’s up, guys?” Carly followed behind him, a step slower, her expression more neutral as she took in the atmosphere.

“Spike.” Bumblebee stood up from the couch. He deepened his vocalizer. “You have known us now for quite a while, and I think it’s time we had a very important talk.”

Mirage couldn’t hold back his sigh, and Hound just buried his face in his servos.

“Did someone die?” Spike asked, looking between them. “Geez. What’s the matter with you guys?”

“Nobody died,” Hound quickly reassured him. “Actually, something great is happening.”

“You see, there’s a party coming up,” Mirage began, “but it’s not like any of the—”

“Prowl and Jazz are getting hitched,” Sideswipe said.

Bumblebee leaned closer to Hound and whispered, “What does that mean?”

Spike looked between the bots in the room with wide eyes. Carly looked pensive, a finger on her chin and eyes downcast.

“You mean, like, married?” Spike eventually asked.

After Hound muttered something back to Bumblebee, the little scout beamed and said, “Yes! Like getting married!”

“But…” Spike, despite staring straight at Bumblebee, had a somewhat vacant look in his eyes. “They’re both guys.”

“Spike.” It was Carly who spoke up first. “They’re alien robots.”

“So they’re all gay?” Spike said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just didn’t… I mean, Jazz, I could see being bi or something, but Prowl?”

Bumblebee cycled his optics. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

“I think he’s just surprised you guys have romantic relationships,” Carly said. “We haven’t observed anything that suggested it yet, but I suppose it makes sense. We do have a lot in common. You probably have some different courting rituals we didn’t recognize.”

“Oh, they weren’t courting,” Sideswipe said.

“Yeah,” Bumblebee continued, “they’ve been _hitched_ since before the war started.”

“So they’ve been married…” Spike said, “this _whole time_?”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said again.

Mirage snorted. “Could you imagine the uproar in the Towers if they adopted Bluestreak before bonding?”

“ _Adopted_?” Spike echoed. “Bluestreak is their _kid_?”

“Sparkling,” Mirage said pointedly.

Bumblebee thought Spike looked as though his processor had gotten caught in a loop, and he contemplated sending a comm to Ratchet to come reset him. It was a bit amusing to see, though, so he waited.

“You know,” Mirage began idly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Prowl came back from the honeymoon—”

“ _Honeymoon_?” Spike interjected.

“—sparked up. I’ve been waiting for news of a sparkling ever since he practically adopted Chip on sight. And now that Chip’s off at school, he’s probably got— oh, Hound, what do the humans call it?”

“Empty nest syndrome,” Hound supplied.

“Yes, _that_.”

Thoughtfully, Hound noted, “It wasn’t that long after Bluestreak got into his adult frame that they had Smokescreen.”

“ _Smokescreen_ is their kid too?” Spike said.

“ _Sparkling_ ,” Mirage insisted again.

“Ignore him,” Carly said, stepping forward. She was practically beaming. “When’s the wedding?”

* * *

While Bumblebee and his cohort fielded an array of questions from Spike after he returned from his catatonic state, Optimus departed the Ark to deal with the human dignitaries himself. Sideswipe had ‘helpfully’ offered to explain it to them himself, and Optimus in turn ordered Ironhide to keep an optic on him for as long as the humans were in earshot.

“What’s this about, Prime?” The United States Secretary of Defense marched purposefully across the tarmac. Optimus let him, despite being able to close the distance in one step. They had learned early on that the older humans weren’t as fond of being reminded of their little stature.

“Thank you for arriving on such short notice,” Optimus said. “It is very much appreciated.”

“It is very much _not_ ,” the secretary retorted. He held up a piece of paper, which Optimus’s optics identified as a print-out of the letter they had sent to his office. “What’s all this about?”

“Personal breaks have been requested,” said Optimus. “As we said in our letter—”

“I don’t want to talk about what’s in the letter!” the secretary said. “I want the answers that aren’t in the letter.”

Resigned, Optimus shut off his vocalizer and listened.

“Where is that tactical robot going to be off to for so long?” he asked. “You can’t just take him away from us; we need him! And if he’s not going to be here, we need to know where he’s going and why. You’ve got half our top generals in a frenzy trying to reorganize their schedules.”

“Prowl,” Optimus said pointedly, “is only going to be away for a week.”

“A week too long!” the secretary replied. “We’re constantly fielding threats from the Decepticons – Decepticons _you_ brought to our planet. You agreed to exchange information with us without holding anything back. We have a contract!”

“Your meetings will not need to be rescheduled,” Optimus told him. “While Prowl is gone, our second-in-command of tactics will be taking over all his duties, including meetings.”

“We don’t want the second-in-command of tactics, we want the one with the fancy processing unit.”

“I assure you, Trailbreaker has all the necessary upgrades to perform well in tactical analysis. He served as Prowl’s apprentice for vorns.”

The secretary put his hands on his hips, glowering up at Prime. “What’s this all about?” he asked. “What’s _so_ important that you had to ruin the entire government’s next two weeks?”

“It has come to our attention that a celebration is far overdue,” said Optimus. At the secretary’s unchanging look, he continued, “As your species does, we too hold celebrations to mark life-long bonding, followed by a reprieve for the couple. It seems that during the early stages of the war, my close friend’s ceremony was overlooked in the chaos. We are currently seeking to set that right.”

The secretary sighed and rubbed a hand over his wrinkled face. “Alright, so who else are we losing for the time being? Arcee? Windblade? Elite Two or whatever?”

“Arcee, Windblade, and Elita-One will all be maintaining their posts.”

He frowned. “Well, I don’t know of any other gals. If this is some new arrival from Cybertron, the first thing you need to do is register her with us, not go about planning a party for her!”

“There are no new Cybertronians coming to Earth,” Optimus said.

The secretary looked exceptionally frustrated. “Okay, so then which one of them is getting married?”

“Jazz,” Optimus said.

The secretary blinked up at him. “Excuse me? What about Jazz?”

“Jazz and Prowl are having a bonding ceremony,” he said.

There was a long moment of silence. Optimus contemplated if the human had forgotten what a bonding ceremony was already. Right when he was about to re-explain it, the human threw his hands up and said, “But they’re both males! They can’t get married.”

“They are not getting married,” Optimus said. “They are having a conjunx ceremony.”

“Same thing! Do you have any idea how polarizing this issue is? You’ll turn most of the world against you. No, no. I’m vetoing this. You put Prowl back on my schedule. We’re not putting up with this charade.”

Optimus cocked an optical ridge. “Unfortunately, you’re about four million years too late to stop it.”

The secretary began a tirade that Optimus didn’t understand most of. He allowed the man to rant, until he at last threw down the printed copy of the Autobots’ letter and stalked back towards his plane. Optimus tried to hide his relief as he headed back toward the Ark.

Ironhide was waiting outside. “Want me to step on him?”

“Not in public.”


	3. Chapter 3

The evening Elita-One and her crew arrived, three days before the planned ‘wedding’, there was practically a pre-party in celebration. Ironhide, who had been monitoring Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s punishment duties following a missed patrol, abandoned his post the moment word of Chromia’s imminent arrival spread across base. Even Optimus turned a blind eye to Sideswipe’s ensuing antics and allowed himself a few cubes of high grade (albeit, at Elita’s goading).

Prowl was dragged into the chaos by Jazz, who struck up an almost instant camaraderie with Moonracer.

The tactician kept a close optic on their leader. As soon as Elita left Optimus’ side to make her rounds, Prowl slipped from Jazz’s grasp to make his way over to their leader. All the new arrivals had his plating prickling with something akin to unease. Ironhide’s dodginess whenever Prowl found himself a little too close to him didn’t help.

“Elita’s arrival is certainly a pleasant surprise,” Prowl said, as he moved to stand by Optimus.

The Prime was looking over the crowd gathered in the rec room, now thankfully devoid of humans. “It is,” he agreed.

“And news from Cybertron?” Prowl asked.

Optimus tilted his helm, giving Prowl an odd look. “You’re about to have a bonding ceremony, and you’re concerned with interviewing your guests?”

“I am capable of multitasking,” Prowl said. “Besides, Mirage and Bumblebee have so selflessly volunteered to control the entire thing.”

Optimus heard the faint lilt of amusement in his voice. “And Bluestreak?”

Prowl’s gaze softened. “It’s been quite a while since he’s been this excited about a party.”

Optimus turned his optics back to the crowd. Before he could say anything else, Prowl noted, with an oddly calm voice, “I must thank you, Prime, for handling the paperwork for Elita and her crew’s arrival. I’m sure the secretary of defense will be pleased with your work.”

“Of course,” Optimus said. He spotted Elita in the crowd, talking animatedly with Chromia and Ironhide. Well, Chromia was talking; Ironhide was glowering. “Actually, I think there’s something I forgot to tell Elita—”

“Prime.” Prowl’s tone had him stalling his escape. “Maintaining diplomatic relations with the humans is of the utmost importance. While I disagree with the extent of their rules, we did agree to alert them to any new Cybertronian arrivals on the planet. If it looks like we are attempting to obscure their presence here, then—”

“Worry not, old friend,” Optimus said. “I heard the secretary of defense was out of office for the time being and no longer taking paperwork.”

“Oh?”

Optimus nodded solemnly. “He had a terrible hit-and-run with a minivan. All his non-essential work has been shelved for the time being.”

Prowl frowned, looking pensively into the crowd. “That’s strange. I thought the secretary didn’t drive.” Given the size of the city, and the sudden new worry that any car might actually be a sentient alien, public transportation was seen as a good option.

“He doesn’t,” Optimus agreed. “It was a very odd accident. The van just slammed into his office window while he was working late yesterday evening.”

“On the second floor?”

“Must have been a big van.”

“Must have,” Prowl echoed coolly.

Optimus cycled his optics. Prowl’s gaze didn’t falter. “I’m going to see Elita now,” he said, taking a hesitant step away.

“Of course,” Prowl said, bowing his helm. “I didn’t mean to monopolize your time.”

Optimus began to walk away, a tad too quickly to look entirely innocent. Prowl called over his shoulder, “While you’re over there, give Ironhide my commendations. Managing to crash into a second-story window is no small task.”

* * *

Prowl did eventually get his meeting with Elita. He didn’t even have to bribe any front-liners into dragging her into his office for a report, like he had to with _some_ commanders. She arrived promptly in the morning, her pink plating agleam and her blue optics as bright and fiery as ever. She didn’t show any evidence of after-effects from the party that lasted well into the dawn hours.

She brought good tidings from Cybertron. Shockwave seemed to have retreated deeper into his hole after a few devastating strikes from Elita’s crew. They escaped mostly unscathed; Ratchet was working on fabricating parts for a wound in Moonracer’s leg that hadn’t healed quite right. Prowl dismissed worrying over the lost parts; their med-bay was better stocked now than it had been for centuries back on Cybertron. He made a note to send some supplies back with Elita when she left.

Most mecha were quick to retreat from Prowl’s office after giving their reports, but Elita loitered. She glanced over his scant belongings with a keen optic. As Prowl’s minute patience ticked away, she finally said, “So. Bonding. Good for you.”

“I’m already bonded,” Prowl said, “as you are well aware.”

Elita tilted her helm in acknowledgment. She, of course, had been at Optimus’s side during the original rushed ceremony. “It’s not the same,” she said. “There’s a difference between just saying the vows and having an actual celebration.”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Prowl said, “I am, in fact, aware that parties have a morale-boosting effect.”

“But it’s not just about morale,” Elita said. She looked at him once more. “I’m happy for you, Prowl. You and Jazz deserve this, after all this time.”

Prowl found his vocalizer seemed to suddenly stop working. His faceplates flushed with energon. He cleared his vox-coder and said, “Thank you, Elita. That means a lot, coming from you.” He paused, then added, “Your bonding with Optimus, even at the start of the war, was the push I think we needed.”

Elita’s smile was beaming. “So, I take it that my presence now is to thank for part two?”

“Oh, of course.”

Her expression returned to one of seriousness. Softly, she said, “I really am happy for you and Jazz. And I think now is a good time. We all need this.”

Prowl agreed, “Sideswipe is always looking for an excuse to brew that toxin he calls high grade.”

Elita shook her helm. “No, I mean…” She paused. “I think we forget why we’re fighting sometimes. It’s been so long since the time of the Senate and the Towers. Bots like Bumblebee were so young at the start of it all; some of it probably went right over their helms. But all of it, it was for things like this. So we could have this.”

Prowl cocked an optical ridge. “I doubt it was for _this_ , in particular.”

“Oh, no,” Elita said. “Optimus took it _very_ personally when Jazz got all upset, thinking you could never bond. He came straight to our flat at some Primus-forsaken cycle in the night after he found out.” Her gaze flickered away from Prowl. “I don’t think I ever saw him that upset, but then, I was never as close to him as Optimus was before the war.”

“I… never knew that,” Prowl admitted.

Elita looked at him, the faintest of smiles on her faceplates. “I told you,” she said. “We’ve all been waiting for this for a long, long time.”

* * *

The next day, Spike arrived in the rec room alone. Carly had vanished off with Elita-One and her crew the moment they met outside the Ark, without a glance cast his way. He saw that Bumblebee and Mirage had commandeered the central table, a data-pad split between them. Spike started to climb up Bumblebee’s leg, before the mini-bot took pity on him and placed him on the table.

The two bots paid no attention to him. Spike figured Bumblebee didn’t even consciously realize he’d picked him up. Quite a few of the bots had gotten so used to moving humans out of their way that they did it without really processing it, which led to some interesting encounters with military officials. They didn’t seem to like it as much as the kids did.

“What are you doing?” Spike asked, leaning over to look at the data-pad. He frowned. It was all in Cybertronian writing.

“Nothing you would understand,” Mirage said waspishly.

Idly, Spike wondered if Carly had figured out yet how to translate their native writing. He knew she had given up on understanding their speech after Jazz kindly informed her that they, like humans, had different languages. “We do have something like this too,” Spike said. At Mirage’s frown, he elaborated, “Weddings. You know.”

“I don’t,” Mirage said stiffly. “And I don’t want to.”

Spike ignored him, turning his attention to Bumblebee. “What are you working on now?”

Bumblebee offered a shrug. “Just looking over some stuff Optimus took care of.” Spike didn’t miss how Mirage rolled his optics at that.

Spike didn’t know how to read Cybertronian in the slightest, but he had figured out from looking at their schedules and office doors what some of their names looked like when written out. He saw a few he recognized – Blaster, Arcee, Optimus Prime – in two different columns, alongside various ones marked out and now illegible.

“Is this who is going to be there?” Spike asked. He peered a little closer, recognizing Bumblebee’s own name scratched out. “Wait, are you not going?”

Bumblebee laughed. “Of course I’m going! This was all my idea.”

Mirage snorted.

Bumblebee gestured to the data-pad. “This is Optimus’s list for spark-guards. One for Prowl, one for Jazz.”

Spike frowned. “Spark-guards?”

The yellow mini-bot looked a tad bit frustrated at Spike’s confusion. “Yeah,” he said. “You know, the ones who stand by the couple?”

Spike blinked a few times, then said, “Groomsmen?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Spike really wished Hound was there. “They’re the guys who are close friends with the guy getting married. There are normally a couple of them. The bride has some too, but they’re called maids of honor.”

Mirage muttered something about “knock-off ceremonies”.

Bumblebee brightened at his explanation. “Like that!” he said. “But we only get one.”

“And you’re out of the running?”

He frowned, and Mirage chuckled. “I should be,” Bumblebee muttered. “It was _my_ idea.”

“So who is it gonna be?” Spike asked. “Do Jazz and Prowl each get their own?”

It was Mirage who answered. “Of course. One each. I believe Jazz has chosen Blaster, while Prowl has selected Arcee.”

Spike started to say “but she’s a girl” before he remembered they clearly didn’t differentiate in the same way humans did, nor did they gender their wedding positions. “And Optimus?” Spike asked.

“Officiant,” Bumblebee said. “He’s the prime.”

“In Praxus,” Mirage said, “it would have been the Supreme Justice of the Praxian Court.” He made a dismissive gesture. “They had little respect for Primus or his avatars. Optimus wasn’t welcome in their borders long before he chose to side with the Autobots.”

Spike had no idea what any of that meant. He smiled and nodded and said, “Cool,” before turning back to Bumblebee. “Are there any other positions?”

Bumblebee nudged the data-pad. “I know better than to ask if I can be the honorific.”

Mirage muttered his own agreement.

“I don’t know what that is,” Spike said.

“One of the three traditional roles, alongside the spark-guards and an avatar of Primus,” Mirage explained. “In the Towers, it was typically the mech who arranged the bonding, made the contract and arranged the exchange.”

“For normal mechs,” Bumblebee said, “it was just anyone who played a role in getting them together, like the one responsible for introducing them.”

Spike peered at the data-pad again, but he didn’t see a third column. “Who is it going to be for them?” he asked.

They spoke at the same time. “Bluestreak.”

Spike blinked. “But I thought he was their kid” – “ _Sparkling_ ,” Mirage interrupted – “so he wouldn’t have been around when they met.”

“Yeah, but…” Bumblebee waved a servo. “It’s different.”

Spike contemplated it for a long moment. “I guess it makes sense,” he said, slowly. “I mean, Bluestreak does represent them being together, in a way.” Carly would be proud of his philosophizing. “And he does kinda look like both of them,” he added.

“Yeah.” Bumblebee’s gaze seemed to stare into space. Suddenly he perked up. “Hey, ‘Raj, do you think if I just lightly scratched out Arcee’s designation and put mine really small under it, then—”

“No,” Mirage said.

Bee deflated.

Spike saw an opportunity to speak, sans any interruptions. “Hey, Bee.” He sat down beside the data-pad, and Bumblebee’s optics flickered over to him. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. It’s just weird, you know, seeing how similar we are in some ways and different in others. I guess I forget sometimes that you guys really came from another planet and lived for four million years before you even got here. You fit in so well here, with us. It’s hard to imagine anything else.”

Bumblebee shrugged. “Yeah, okay.” He tilted the data-pad up. “Now look at this. Do you think it’s a good idea for Hound and Cliffjumper to sit next to each other?”

Eventually, it was determined the safest bet was simply to put Cliffjumper in the corner preemptively.


	4. Chapter 4

Chip Chase, unlike his old friend Spike Witwicky, did enjoy some semblance of a life outside of the Cybertronian sphere of influence. That didn’t mean he had forgotten his biweekly games of online chess with Prowl, or that he dodged Mirage’s comms to complain about how the rest of the humans lacked his appreciation for Cybertronian advances. He occasionally forwent answering Spike’s calls, but that was for his own sanity more than anything else.

Still, it seemed the Autobots respected Chip’s want for distance. None of them had appeared at his university for anything other than official purposes. For as many differences as Cybertronians and humans had in their lifespan development, they seemed to understand that Chip was ready to depart and carry out his own life. He had expected it to be a tad more difficult, honestly. Human lives were so short in comparison to Cybertronian ones.

So when Chip was wheeling between classes, half-retreated into his mind, he jolted at the sudden recognition of a familiar yellow Volkswagen idling between two beaten-down Ford Escorts, one of which sported a suspicious fresh scratch in its ailing paint.

His momentary pause was all the time Spike Witwicky needed to throw open the door – only Bumblebee’s reflexes keeping it from smashing into the car beside them – and leap over to join Chip on the walkway. “Chip! Buddy!” He was pulled into a crushing hug before he could move away. Unfortunately, Spike had built up some muscle in their time apart, and Chip stood no chance. He went limp in acquiescence.

When Spike finally pulled away, he was still beaming. Behind him, Bumblebee had quietly transformed, and taken to sitting between the two cars, poking curiously at them.

Chip tried to smooth his hair back down from where Spike had playfully ruffled it. “What’s this all about?” he asked. He looked past Spike, over to Bumblebee. “I wasn’t aware the university was holding any conferences with the Autobots.”

“Nothing boring like that,” Spike said. His grin was wide and glistening. Chip’s stomach turned.

“Is everyone—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Spike waved it off. “Everybody’s fine. I wish you were still there! There are more robots on base now. More girl robots!” Spike paused, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. “Actually, I think the pink one has something going on with Optimus. I dunno. I tried to ask Carly and she just laughed at me.”

“Uh-huh,” Chip said noncommittally. “So you’re here to tell me about a new pink robot?”

“What? No!” Spike gestured to Bumblebee. “I’m here to get you! You gotta come back to the base. I promise it’ll only be a few days, but it’s non-optional.”

“You’re kidnapping me,” Chip realized.

“Not kidnapping,” Spike corrected. “You’re, like, twenty now. This is more of an abduction.”

“Noted.”

Spike’s smile was almost lecherous. “Aren’t you going to ask _why_ I’m abducting you?”

Chip looked at Bumblebee, then back at Spike. “I’m going to take a guess it has something to do with the Autobots.”

“Not just any Autobot,” Spike said. “ _Prowl_.”

Despite Spike’s elated demeanor, Chip couldn’t help the cold feeling that ran down his back. “Is he all right?”

“Even better,” Spike said. He leaned in, and in a faux conspiratorial whisper, said, “He’s getting _hitched_! Like actually _married_. To _Jazz_!”

Chip had to let that sink in for a moment. The way Spike crossed his arms as he observed the cogs in Chip’s brain turning was almost gloating.

Finally, Chip said, “You came all the way here to tell me in person? Spike! I thought something bad happened!”

Spike looked thoroughly flummoxed. “You’re not surprised?”

“Surprised?” Chip echoed. “What would I be surprised about?”

Spike made an odd gesture, some bastard combination of a shrug and throwing his hands up. “That _Prowl_ is the one getting married? That he’s marrying _Jazz_ , of all bots? That they’re both gay? That they’ve been married for millions of years? I don’t know, maybe that alien robots have relationships in general? Romantic ones? That they have _kids_?”

Chip nodded slowly.

“Oh my god,” Spike realized. “You knew.”

“You didn’t?” Chip said.

“You knew!” Spike crowed. “You knew this entire time! About Jazz, and Prowl, and robot relationships! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Chip shrugged. “I thought you knew too.” He pointed to Bumblebee. “I thought he would’ve explained everything to you.”

Spike suddenly deflated, a faraway look in his eyes. “No,” he muttered. “Ratchet did.” He shook his head, as thought forcefully trying to corrupt the memories, and continued, “Seriously, when did you find out?”

“When Prowl told me,” Chip said.

“He _told_ you? Just like that?”

Chip looked to Bumblebee. “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Bumblebee shrugged.

“My feelings are hurt and my trust is betrayed,” Spike said. “I’m never talking to you again, Bee.”

“Is that really all that you’re here for?” Chip asked, looking back to Spike.

His friend offered a helpless gesture. “I wanted to see your face when you found out.” Suddenly, he jolted. “You were planning on coming, weren’t you? You seemed really shocked to see us.”

“Of course I planned on coming,” Chip said. “But, Spike, the ceremony isn’t for three more days. I wasn’t going to leave until Wednesday. Sunstreaker had already planned to come pick me up.”

Spike recovered quickly. “But isn’t it nicer that your _best friend_ showed up in person to get you?”

“I don’t see Prowl anywhere.”

“That hurt, Chip. I thought we were tight.”

The sight of a giant, bright yellow alien robot in the MIT parking lot was, despite the Autobots’ frequent involvements, an unusual sight for the common student, and so a decent-sized crowd had paused to gawk. Spike seemed oblivious to the growing number of eyes. Bumblebee offered an awkward wave to the passersby.

Chip shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I can head out with you now, just don’t—”

“Great!” Spike said, and shoved Chip toward Bumblebee.

As they made their way to Chip’s dormitory to collect his already-prepared suitcase, Chip tried not to think of himself as a glorified hostage. Spike talked incessantly, not about the bonding ceremony, but about the various escapades he, Carly, and their Autobot companions had been on.

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” Spike mentioned between anecdotes. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah,” Chip relented. “I’ve missed everybody too.”

It wasn’t until they were only a few dozen miles away from the Ark that Spike opened his mouth to broach the question that had clearly been bugging him for most of the ride. “So what’s the story, anyway?” he asked quietly, as though Bumblebee couldn’t hear the conversation going on in his cab. “With Jazz and Prowl, I mean.”

Chip offered a shrug as an answer. “Depends. What do you want to know?”

“How much do you know?” Spike asked. “It’s just _weird_ , you know. Prowl’s all business and Jazz is fun. I never figured they would be together. I didn’t think they were gay, anyway. Or at least Prowl.” A moment later, he added, “Carly says I’m oblivious.”

Chip thanked every deity across the multiverse for Carly’s arrival. “You know the old saying. Opposites attract. Just look at you and Carly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Before Chip could answer, Spike shook his head and said, “Never mind. Just… what are they like? Together, I mean. Do you know?”

“Spike, you practically live in their base.”

“Yeah, but you clearly have a better relationship with Prowl. He tells you stuff. So what has he told you?”

Chip made a noncommittal gesture. “Nothing much, really.” Prowl was a relatively private bot, and while Chip was well-aware he shared a more profound bond with the tactician than many others on his crew, it didn’t make him privy to everything in the bot’s history. Still, he had seen more of Jazz from his place perched in Prowl’s servos than Spike ever did.

“What about how he met Jazz?” In a lower whisper, Spike asked, “Was it an arranged marriage or something? Do they have arranged marriages on Cybertron?”

Bumblebee’s engine let out a warning rumble.

“It wasn’t an arranged marriage,” Chip said. Spike’s expectant look prompted him to continue, “They knew each other before the war. Cybertron had castes and city-states. They came from different ones. They liked each other, got married, and the war happened.”

“Yeah, but how did they meet?” Spike asked. “In a battle? Blind date?”

Bumblebee’s engine was suspiciously quiet as Chip responded. “Prowl lived in this place called the Towers. Jazz was a performer and did a show there. They met, they liked each other, they snuck around.”

“Mirage was telling the truth, then?” Spike said. “They weren’t allowed to date?”

 _“It was a little more serious than that.”_ Bumblebee’s voice broke through the radio. _“Tower mechs didn’t conjunx non-Tower mechs, and Praxian mechs didn’t conjunx non-Praxians. Pretty sure it was illegal in Praxus. Conjunxing outside your caste and Conjunxing a different frame type, I mean.”_ There was a pause. _“Well, I think that’s what Mirage meant.”_

Chip only had a vague idea of the timeline of the Cybertronian war, but he was pretty certain that Praxus was razed back when Bumblebee was still a sparkling. He knew Bee was younger than Bluestreak, and Blue had still been a youngling when the Seekers rained fire over the city-state.

“Praxus?” Spike echoed.

“City-state where Prowl is from,” Chip said.

Spike shook his head, looking a bit dazed. “Prowl broke laws? Actual laws? _Prowl_?”

“They went to this other city-state, Iacon, after it all came to light in Praxus,” Chip told him. “Jazz is good friends with Optimus. The Autobots took them in.”

 _“Optimus said there wasn’t such a thing as the Autobots before Jazz and Prowl joined,”_ said Bumblebee.

Spike’s brow was furrowed. “If their marriage was illegal in Praxus,” he said, “then how did they have a wedding before now?”

“It wasn’t really a wedding,” Chip said, and Bumblebee’s engine revved in agreement. “Primes are the greatest authority on Cybertron, so they had Optimus oversee their bonding. Nobody was really there, since the Decepticons were out causing problems. Prowl never told me that much about it, just that they said their vows and bonded and got back to work.”

“That sucks,” Spike said. “My brother had a huge wedding when he got married to Jesse.” He tapped excitedly on the back of Bumblebee’s front seat. “I got to be Buster’s best man. I think I still have the suit.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do I wear a suit to a Cybertronian wedding? I think it still fits…”

 _“You showed me the pictures,”_ Bumblebee said. _“Please don’t.”_

“Have you actually talked to Jazz or Prowl about this any?” Chip asked.

Spike blinked, wide-eyed and caught off-guard. “No,” he said. “I’ve been with Bee and Mirage mostly. They’re doing most of the planning.”

Chip frowned. “I thought it was Prowl’s ceremony.”

 _“It is his ceremony,”_ Bumblebee agreed _, “but Bluestreak’s practically running the show. And Optimus too. I think he feels guilty about letting it go uncorrected for this long, and Blue’s just happy to be a part of something with Jazz and Prowl.”_

That made Chip relax a little. When Prowl gave him the news, he had been curt, but that was what Prowl was like, and Chip hadn’t thought anything of it. Besides, if Prowl was uncomfortable with anything, Jazz would have vetoed it the moment he caught wind of it. Jazz might run the show when it came to planning parties, but Prowl had him wrapped around his servo – no matter how adamantly Jazz denied such a thing.

In a serious, contemplative voice, Spike asked, “Will there be cake at a Cybertronian wedding?”

 _“Tell Chip to mention it to Prowl,”_ Bumblebee said, _“and it’ll be there.”_


End file.
